


Window Dressing

by Pinkmink



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Because I sure did, Castiel and Feelings, Castiel in the Bunker, Coda, Dean Talks About Feelings, Didn't you have feelings about this episode?, Episode: s12e10 Lily Sunder Has Some Regrets, Fem!Cas, First Kiss, Look there's just a lot of feelings, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-22 04:19:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9583292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pinkmink/pseuds/Pinkmink
Summary: When Cas finally spoke, it was quiet. “I won’t let anything happen to you, Dean. I promise.”Dean had never liked protective declarations, though he himself made them on a near constant basis. It’s because they meant someone valued their lives over Dean's, and the guilt that came with that knowledge was cumbersome. As far as he was concerned, it was easier to be a martyr.But when Cas made yet another promise to protect Dean, something shifted inside his gut. A knowledge that hadn’t fully solidified, hadn’t fully gelled within his insides. And he stood quite suddenly in spite of himself, nearly knocking the chair over in his enthusiasm. Castiel jerked away from him on reflex but softened again when he saw the expression in Dean’s eyes.A hand, callused and cut across the palm where he’d bled to try to save them both reached across the chasm between their bodies. It cupped the side of Castiel’s cheek, roughly scraping against stubble.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, yet another coda. A03 is FULL of coda for this episode and hey, I'm not even mad. This episode was straight out of fanfiction, and no one can tell me otherwise. We were blessed with so many beautiful moments between these two and heck, I just had to write a smooch at the end of it. I'm sure the writers of SPN meant to end it in a kiss but ran out of time in the episode. Maybe next time.

They drank for a while - a long while. Hardly a Team Free Will record, but as the evening wore on more than a few six packs worth of bottles ended up scattered across the map table, like amber pins marking far off destinations. The bunker air felt warm, for once, or maybe it was just the alcohol raising the temperature of the blood in his veins. Soon flannel and trenchcoats were shed, sleeves rolled, shoes propped up and heads tilted back in laughter.

Dean felt good - better than he had in months. They’d hopped so quickly back into finding the nephilim following their arrest that he hardly had a chance to shower and sleep, let alone take a few minutes to feel human again. To laugh again. That horrible room, those concrete walls - they still sat in the back of his brain like a lead weight.

Part of him was still there.

He closed his eyes as he finished his beer, trying to imagine a new set of dash marks in a different wall - each representing a day out. A day of freedom, back with his family and, sweet mercy, _real_ food. He counted five. Long way to go before the two tallies evened out. Maybe by the time they had, this sense of dread will have faded to a dull roar.

“I think that’s it for me.” Sam scratched at the back of his neck, a sleepy habit. It made the hair on the back of his neck fluff up a bit, like pre-bed head. “I cleaned up last time,” he pointed at the bottles, then between Cas and Dean with a raised brow. “These are on you guys.”

“I will clean up.” Castiel murmured with a nod towards the mess. “It’s the least I can do, for all of your help today.”

“Cas - when are you going to stop keeping score?” Sam pinched at the bridge of his nose and sighed. He stared down at the angel from where he stood in front of him, gently placing a hand on the back of his shoulder. A spark flared within Dean, and he had a sudden urge to pull them both into an embrace. When he watched them like this, caring for each other, looking out for each other, it brought him some strange sort of peace. An understanding that if he suddenly wasn’t around, they’d keep each other safe in his absence.

Cas seemed a loss for words as his blue eyes squinted, looking up at Sam. “I - you’re right. How about if I just say I’ll take care of it because I want to be a good roommate?”

“That works.” Sam huffed a laugh, patting the angels back. “Goodnight you guys.”

“Night Sammy.” Dean called after him, watching his brother turn down the hall. The room seemed quieter without him there, but not uncomfortable. A single unopened beer still sat on the table, condensation running down the side and pooling in a circle around it. He knew Cas would pick up the bottles later as promised, but Dean would need to come and wipe down the map table from the mess they’d made. Cas wouldn’t see it the circular marks, but Dean would. They sort of complimented each other like that. The thought made him smile to himself.

“Take it.” Cas said, meeting his eye when Dean looked away from the bottle. “I’ve got half of one left and I’m not feeling remotely intoxicated.”

“How many is that for you?”

Cas shrugged, drawing in his lower lip. “Eleven, I think?”

Dean reached forward and grabbed the bottle, popping the top easily with his ring. “You are not a cheap date, my friend.”

Cas half smiled, and seemed to look at something on the opposite wall. “So I’ve been told.”

They sat in silence, but there was a question thrumming under Dean’s skin. One he knew better than to ask when Sam was around but, now that he considered it - it was probably more dangerous to ask when Sam _wasn’t_ around.

But what the hell - he threw caution into the wind. Because he was a Winchester. Because it was going to keep him up tonight if he didn’t.

But mostly because after eight beers, he’s a bit more - honest.

“So - Benjamin,” he began, and Castiel’s sharp eyes flickered back to his face. “Inhabiting a female vessel. Even though he’s a dude…”

“I told you, angels are sexless, Dean.” Castiel jumped right over the word, but it made Dean flinch. It sounded strange fettering across the angel’s lips. “We do not prescribe to your human notion of gender.” Then, he added, as an aside. “I myself was vesseled in a human woman when last Ishim saw me.”

“Wait, what?” Dean gaped. His brain short circuited as the weight of Castiel’s words hit him like a gut punch. Cas - as a woman? Sure he’d seen him inhabit Claire, but that was temporary and necessary and - what?

Cas with boobs. Cas with - _lady parts_.

Cas watched Dean’s momentary panic, and rolled his eyes. “She was part of Jimmy’s bloodline. Good age, good health, sturdy - she was a perfect fit. And a devout woman, actually.” He changed his posture it sit up suddenly, like the memory of her demanded more respect. “Her name was Francis. She was - very kind,” he sighed heavily. “And I was not.”

Dean watched the change in Castiel with interest, trying to get over his shock. Gone was the sassy angel he’d spent the better part of a week with, with silent treatment and dirty looks. He had a faraway look in his eyes like he was falling back into the memory of this woman. Like it both pained and interested him to remember.

“Would you like to see her?” Cas asked suddenly, his eyes focusing again on Dean. His breath caught in his throat, so he swallowed.

“Uh, I don’t want to drain you, dude,” Dean replied, but there was no conviction behind his voice. The truth was he wanted to see - he needed to see. For a reason he couldn’t quite pinpoint.

Castiel stood and scooted his chair closer to Deans - so close their knees practically touched. Dean could smell the beer on him, sense the heat of his body. It struck Dean suddenly that it should have felt odd, the way they gravitated towards each other. He should be grumbling about personal space. Instead he opened himself up to Cas, voluntarily closing his eyes and leaning his forehead forward in anticipation. He felt two soft fingertips, and then he was gone.

* * *

 

He was seeing the world through her eyes - Francis’. They came into focus in a brightly lit room. The walls were lined with a yellow gold wallpaper, reflecting the sunshine pouring in from two huge windows. Old wooden chairs, with sparsely padded pillows sat underneath the sills. From somewhere behind her, fingers were plinking softly on a piano with very little rhythm. It was cold - a chill ran across his arms, and he grasped them together. He could feel the odd smallness of feminine hands, and stiff fabric under his fingertips.

Suddenly he was moving across creaking floorboards, heels clicking with each step. A dress swirled around his legs, nearly getting tangled. The body jerked forward as the fabric twisted between his thighs.

“Careful Castiel, wouldn’t want to damage that vessel before the mission is through.” A voice joked behind him. Ishim’s. Dean was sure of it. The body continued to move with purpose towards an ornate wooden fireplace. Eyes looked down at the cracking sight, as hands were raised in front of it. Warmth pooled into palms, but little else on her body. Dean wondered why she didn’t just raise her skirt to invite some of that warmth underneath.

Eyes filtered up to a mirror on the mantle. It was browning on the edges, cracked in a few places and a little murky, settling on a black rod iron frame. But as the eyes focused, Dean could _finally_ see her.

She was absolutely beautiful.

Long brown hair, pulled into a soft bun at the crown of her head. Full, pink lips, curling into a frown that was a perfect mimic of an expression Dean had seen so often before. Sharp, smart blue eyes, staring at her own reflection critically, as if seeing it for the first time.

She looked like Cas.

He watched as she raised her hands to a small hat on her head, fiddling it to the side, trying to get it to balance.

“This vessels clothing is problematic,” she said. “What is the point of this hat? It doesn’t even cover all of her hair, or provide shelter from any sort of weather.”

“The point is to blend in, Castiel.” Another female voice replied. Must be Mirabel or possibly Benjamin. Hard to tell because the eyes never strayed far from the mirror. She jabbed another bobby pin into the side of the hat that felt solid. Giving her head a little jiggle she half smiled as it stayed in place. He recognized that expression too - quiet pride. That was a more rare expression of his, but Dean would still know it anywhere.

Would know _Cas_ , anywhere.

The last thing he saw was those critical blue eyes, before his vision faded to black.

* * *

 

Dean came into himself with a gasp. Actually, they both did - Dean’s from the experience of it all and Cas from an obvious drain to his energy.

“Wow.”

He sat back with the visions still fresh in his mind. _Those eyes_ \- a perfect mimic of the ones that tracked him now, squinting in concern.

“She was - hot.” Dean found himself saying, tripping over his own tongue. He flinched immediately as Castiel’s eyes grew wide. Yep - that was certainly the eight beers talking. Though he found he didn’t want to take it back. Francis was a beautiful woman.

But was it the window dressing that had pulled him in? Or was it the knowing expressions - the presence behind them?

Was it just how much he immediately recognized that it was Castiel?

“I mean, I’m just saying if you’d have been in that vessel when we met, I’d probably have hit on you!” Dean joked, picking his beer back up. It was warm. And suddenly not very appealing, as he watched Castiel’s face fall.

The angel picked himself up, twisting to reach behind and grab his trenchcoat from where it lay across the adjacent chair. “I’m certain you would have. I was often - _noticed_.” Castiel’s voice was irritated. “I will clean these bottles in the morning, please leave them for me. Goodnight.”

“Wait! Cas,” Dean grabbed Castiel’s jacket as he walked past. He halted his steps, but didn’t turn to meet Dean’s eye. That hurt a little, but likely no less than the insinuation that Dean had just made - that the reason he rarely shows affection for Cas is because of the vessel he’s in.

And when you put it like that - in those simple, superficial terms - seems like a pretty sorry reason to not show someone you care about, how much you care.

“I forget, uh - what you are. I forget that you’re not just our badass best friend.” Dean looked up at the hardened expression of the angel. There was a slight flare to his nostrils as he listened. “I forget that you’re a freaking angel, man. You’re huge and ancient. And we’re, I dunno, so small and temporary.”

At the last word Castiel sighed, closing his eyes a moment and shaking his head. He looked weary, as he finally looked down to search Dean’s face. “You’ll never be temporary to me, Dean. You and Sam - you’ve changed me into what I am. For better or worse.”

“We’ve made you reckless,” Dean said, guilt lacing his words.

“You’ve made me passionate,” Castiel supplied. “You made me _care_. I’ll never regret that, no matter what my fate is. And neither should you.”

Fate - what a tricky, awful word. The word felt like a sentence, nearly worse than the one he’d just served. It hung between them, carrying with it the hurt and the anger of Castiel’s sacrifice, Dean’s decision - all of the mistakes they’ve made. Everything between them always felt so damn heavy.

“I don’t want you to die, Cas.” Dean willed his voice to sound stronger than he felt. “I don’t want Sam or Mom to die. Hell, I think for the first time in my life I actually give a shit about dying myself. The older I get, the closer I get to that expiration date, the more reasons I find to stay.” Dean laughed in spite of himself, letting his hand fall from Castiel’s coat. “Who’d have thought that? Normal hunters, man, they only get more grizzly, more ready to make that sacrifice. Me? I dunno. I’ve got too much now. Mom’s back, Sam’s doing so good, you’re here…”

He drew a breath, letting the next words fall just underneath it. “...I have so much to lose.”

The adam's apple of Castiel’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. For the first time in a while, the angel looked at Dean with reverence, with great care. Dean almost shied away from the glare - it was too much, to be looked at with such admiration.

When Cas finally spoke, it was quiet. “I won’t let anything happen to you, Dean. I promise.”

Dean had never liked protective declarations, though he himself made them on a near constant basis. It’s because they meant someone valued their lives over Deans, and the guilt that came with that knowledge was cumbersome. As far as he was concerned, it was easier to be a martyr.

But when Cas made yet another promise to protect Dean, something shifted inside his gut. A knowledge that hadn’t fully solidified, hadn’t fully gelled within his insides. And he stood quite suddenly in spite of himself, nearly knocking the chair over in his enthusiasm. Castiel jerked away from him on reflex but softened again when he saw the expression in Dean’s eyes.

A hand, callused and cut across the palm where he’d bled to try to save them both reached across the chasm between their bodies. It cupped the side of Castiel’s cheek, roughly scraping against stubble.  

“I don’t want you to go down for a choice that we made. But yeah, I know you would.” Dean pulled his lips to a half smile. God, it felt good to say that. “So - thanks.”

He didn’t move his hand. It wasn’t a game of chicken, he wasn’t feeling awkward or ashamed. He just wanted to hold Castiel for a minute, to feel the warmth of his skin. To connect with him. And then Cas was moving his hand to mirror Deans, cupping his jaw.

From behind Cas, Dean could see the corkboard nearly full of articles and pictures about Lucifer, Kelly, the nephilim. It was like a neon sign in the dark, spelling out the inevitability of the terrible choice they’d have to make.

Humanity - or a single child.

It was foolish to think that there was ever going to be a time where they wouldn’t have the weight of the world on their shoulders. A quiet time, where things might calm down enough for him to explore this feeling that felt like fire within his chest. That had burned for years with no end in sight. That lit anew as the question of his irritatingly dodgy sexuality was thrown out the window when he looked at Francis.

His eyes flickered back to Castiel’s to find he was smiling. Just a little.

The hand that gripped Dean’s jaw moved to feel along the back of his neck. Castiel drew him into his arms slowly - strongly. Wrapping him up and pulling him in so impossibly tight. Like he knew that Dean needed to feel solid.

He pulled away and found his hand again at the angels jaw, this time letting his thumb rub slow circles at the edge of Castiel’s mouth. The lips were window dressing. Ruggedly handsome window dressing - but window dressing all the same. It was what was underneath that pulled Dean in, fluttering his eyes closed and chastely, apprehensively, meeting lips.

And what he feels there isn’t the vessel - it is of course, the contrast of stubble and the smoothness of a broad mouth. But there’s a smell of ozone, and a charged sense of something else entirely. The angelic presence. Damaged, beaten down, broken. But burning as bright as the sun as they came together.

 _Oh_ , he thinks. There it is. The answer to the tornado that has raged inside of him. And the closer he drew to the eye of the storm, the calmer he felt.

Castiel’s lips begin to move with an indrawn breath, hands gripping tightly at his back. It’s as if Castiel wanted to devour him, and Dean, well, Dean wanted to be devoured.

It was long overdue and yet completely fresh. But mostly it was the last piece to the puzzle. The one you find under the table after searching endlessly, and had that accompanied sense of satisfaction as it was fitted into place. Castiel in his arms felt so inexplicably right, he wondered how he’d gone so long without it.

They pulled away to rest their foreheads together, breaths soft against the other’s mouth. Castiel looked as happy as Dean had ever seen him, the smile crinkling his eyes more than moving his lips. But it was those eyes that told the whole story. They weren’t Jimmy’s. They weren’t Francis’. They were one hundred percent his angel - a window to the celestial.

And they were shining.


End file.
